Dragonflies Draw Flame
by LadyMaureen
Summary: Set after my story Driving to Duncanville. Sam is pushed to the edge. He wonders about the rest of the demon's children. NO MARY SUE. Rating is for language. Multichapter fic.
1. Samuel Winchester

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Supernatural. Don't make money from them. Dang it.

Sam was pissed off. No. He was mad. Really mad. It had been a bad hunt. Dean was hurt, and that made him so angry he wanted to kill that stupid chupacabra again. Watching his brother hurt, _hurt_ Sam. It made him feel so bad for Dean and sick to his stomach with worry for himself. _God I'm selfish. _Dean was all he had in the world, and if he'd died tonight -- well, if Dean had died --- he'd have either -- no, not going to think about it, not going to -- push it back, bury it deep --

Dean had denied that he was in pain even while Sam bandaged the claw marks and wrapped Dean's bruised ribs. Of course.

Pain and concern and fear and love … none of them prevented Sam from being pissed off at his stubborn brother at the same time.

Finally Dean had fallen asleep. Finally. Sam had reached for the aspirin and taken his usual four, this time washing them down with water. It would help with the physical pain.

What he wanted to do was to walk out of the stuffy little motel room and run a couple of miles. Or go to a bar and get rolling drunk. He wouldn't though. If Dean woke up and wanted something, Sam would get it for him -- and incidentally prevent Dean from getting up to get it himself. Physically prevent, if Sam had to. The stubborn jerk.

And on top of everything, he was getting a headache again. _That_ kind of headache. Damn damn damn. He was about to see something that would rip his heart out. Last time was a fluke.

He didn't need this. He just didn't. Visions meant something bad was going to happen. Something would happen to Dean. Something would happen to him. Something would rip his guts out just like Dean's had almost been ripped out tonight. Sam's lips twisted bitterly. He always resisted the visions. Tried to stop them happening, tried to wake up like from a nightmare. Not that it did any good. And it hurt.

_The demon did this to me. The demon did this to other children too. I wonder if they all have what I have? I wonder if it hurts them too. I wonder what they're like, what their lives are. Are any of them happy? Probably not. He probably found a way to break their hearts too. _

Sam's heart was still pounding and he was breathing shallowly. He was just so angry. Sam wanted to break something. But that would wake Dean. He wanted to scream, but that would wake Dean. He hated Dean. He hated himself, and he hated the demon, and he hated Dad, and he hated these fucking visions most of all.

Fine then. Fuck it. Let it come. No struggling, no fighting. Let it come. Maybe his head would finally burst open and he'd be done with his whole stupid, sick, painful life.

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Sam's eyes closed.

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Something ran into the road directly in front of her car. Dana jammed on the brakes, laying rubber. Her school backpack slid from the passenger seat to the floorboards with a heavy thump.

Stray dog?

Stray dogs don't stand their ground and snarl. Stray dogs don't have eyes that glow in the dark.


	2. Dana Woods

**Disclaimer: I've resigned myself. The boys and the car will never be mine. Dammit.**

**Please please review? Puppy dog eyes? Sam eyes? Pretty please with more chapters on top?**

**Dana Woods**

Something ran into the road directly in front of her car. Dana jammed on the brakes, laying rubber. Her school backpack slid from the passenger seat to the floorboards with a heavy thump.

Stray dog?

Stray dogs don't stand their ground and snarl. Stray dogs don't have eyes that glow in the dark.

"Well, shit," said Dana aloud. Then she killed the werewolf. With a heavy sigh, she pulled her car forward to cover the carcass. Turning on her hazard lights, she turned off the ignition and opened the door. She crossed the deserted, winding country road and started to run empty-handed up the rocky incline.

It was sort of like hearing, only it was more like seeing without eyes. There were at least six, maybe seven. Whoa. Eight. A whole pack of them, including two young ones. "Shit," said Dana again.

She could hear the werewolves snarling playfully at each other. Now that she was closer, Dana could see them lolling around the cave mouth, gnawing contentedly on bones. _Whose bones, I wonder?_ Just one big puppy pile of vicious, infectious predator.

_Yank. Yank. Yank. Yank. Yank. Yank. _Shit shit. _Yank. Yank._

One of them managed to yelp before its heart stopped beating. Sloppy, that, Dana thought coldly.

She took a moment, breathed deeply, and opened her mind. She didn't feel any more. God, she hoped there were no more. On good days she could sense as far out as a quarter mile, and she felt nothing but rabbits and a few birds.

Fine. Cleanup time.

With effort, Dana dragged the now-human, but thankfully small-boned body from under her car, then found an easier way up the incline. Lovely curls, a finely sculptured face, a deeply scarred but prettily shaped forearm -- Dana averted her eyes. She lugged the woman's corpse to the group of bodies, counted again while avoiding details as much as she could. Nine.

She made another trip down to her car and grabbed the big lantern and a shovel from the trunk. The lantern was one of those halogen-bulb bright-light doohickeys that ate batteries like there was no tomorrow, so she never bought any for it. In the circle of white light, she dug a hole inside the cave. She cried while she dug. The adults were victims as much as the children. She knew that. But shoveling dirt on top of the two little girls' bodies just made her sick.

Hours later, an exhausted and filthy Dana Woods got back into her car. She stripped off her University of Wisconsin sweatshirt and pulled on a T-shirt proudly emblazoned with "Electrical Engineers Do It With More Power." She turned the key and drove away.

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She'd certainly gotten her workout today, but she'd missed her usual gym time. Here's hoping the regulars didn't call out a search party, because she was pretty much there every day. Dana decided she needed to work more on those muscles she'd used digging, because she was certainly going to be sore tomorrow.

Over the last two years, her talent and what she could do with it had at least given her some variance in her workouts. Hunting was always interesting. Sometimes heartbreaking, but that was life.

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Dana paused outside her apartment. Only one person inside, she decided as she turned the key and let herself in.

One of the things she was most grateful to her talent for was that she had never walked in on her roommate and any of his lovers. That would be just yucky. Especially since Paul's preference in men was just a little too close to her own: Brunette or black-haired and well built. Watching her best friend grope her preferred male type was not what she needed in her fantasy life, thank you very much.

Dana dropped her keys on the counter and dumped her backpack under the hall table. "Hey," she said, flopping on the couch next to Paul, who barely looked up from "Friends." She hardly noticed the small groan the couch made. Five foot seven of stocky muscle meant that when she flopped, things damn well knew they'd been flopped upon.

"Hey sweetie," said Paul, giving her a glance between drooling over Joey. "Have some popcorn."

"Salt," groused Dana, taking a big handful anyway.

"Shut up, sweetie. The Show is on. You know the rules."

Dana rolled her eyes. "I gotta go shower anyway," she said as she hauled herself back out of the couch. Just then, the commercial break started.

"Yeah, you do," and Paul actually recoiled. "What have you been doing, digging ditches? You reek."

"Something like that," said Dana. "Don't ask." This was an understood phrase between them. Paul would not ask. They avoided some subjects, and with Paul's implicit consent, this would be one of them.

Twenty minutes later, Dana completed her nighttime routine and pulled on her usual sleeping costume of pajama pants and sleep shirt. Then she joined her roommate for an ancient rerun of "Wings," and the two of them laughed themselves silly over it.

Finally Dana dragged herself to bed. Differential Equations bright and early in the morning. Fun.

Once she was buried deep under the covers, arms wrapped firmly around her body pillow, she turned off the light.

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Pfc. Raoul Melendez followed his squad leader. He hated urban conflicts. In Iraq you never knew if the natives were friends or foes until they were much too close for comfort….


	3. Raoul Melendez

**Disclaimer: Still not mine. If Kripke wants to give me an early birthday prezzie, though …**

**Please review. Let me know if you want more.**

**Warning: Marines swear like they breathe. Deal with it.**

**Raoul Melendez**

PFC Raoul Melendez followed his squad leader. He hated urban conflicts. In Iraq you never knew if the natives were friends or foes until they were much too close for comfort. So of course "Operation Law and Order" (what the fuck ever, who named these things?) gave him heartburn. A neighborhood -by-neighborhood counter-insurgency sweep through Baghdad was a recipe for scary shit.

The Marines could handle it -- the Corps could handle pretty much anything. It was the Iraqi police and Iraqi army he didn't trust to know what they were doing. Crazy cocksuckers. Good guys, some of 'em, but they didn't have training the way the Corps did. With the recent upsurge in violence -- who the hell would want to bomb a fucking book market, of all the amazing shit! -- they were jumpy, which made the Marines uneasy.

M16 heavy in his hands. Friends to the left, Iraqi strangers to the right. And ahead, in the house …

Raoul jigged left and shot once through the dark window. Thank God the remaining Iraqi assholes fired back immediately. It was a righteous kill -- when the soldiers entered the house they'd find the corpse still clutching a rifle, collapsed under the window where he'd crouched ready to fire.

With any luck no one would have noticed he shot before any of the Marines or Iraqis could have possibly seen that anyone was inside the house, much less with AK-47s and a couple of grenades.

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None of Raoul's companions died that day.

Across town, a car tried to run a checkpoint. The coalition forces shot at it, and it exploded. Twenty people died, including eight troops and a five-year-old boy.

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_Shit. _Raoul sat against a wall, eyes closed.

If he were really a soldier, a Marine through and through, he'd let the high command in on his little gift. Seeing fucking high-definition live video in his head from 20 yards away was an invaluable asset in combat. Project Stargate, eat your heart out.

Raoul could save the lives of his brothers in arms.

The price? They'd go all Charlie McGee on his ass, he knew it. Whatever the Shop was actually called in real life, that King guy was right on the money. He'd never see daylight again. With his eyes, anyway.

_Worthless. Selfish. No true Marine._

He loved Debbie and his son so much. They deserved to have him with them, once this was over and he was sent back home. If he told, he'd never see them again. If he didn't, more of his brothers would die.

_Debbie._

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_Dios te salve, María, llena eres de gracia_

God's gift? Or That One's?

_el señor es contigo,_

He'd saved some of his teammates today. That had to be good, right?

_Bendita tú eres entre todas las mujeres y bendito es el fruto que de tú vientre, Jesús._

But there was so much blood on the floor.

_Santa María, madre de Dios_

But there was so much blood on his hands.

_ruega por nosotros pecadores, ahora, y en la hora de nuestra muerte._

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Stevie was pretty sure Mike had taken the remote for his TV. Just poison mean. It's not like it would work with Mike's TV or nothing.

Stevie didn't like Mike. Mike only acted nice. Stevie knew about people. His momma said so. "Stevie, you sure do know what people mean, no matter what they say, huh?"


	4. Stevie Sheridan

**Disclaimer: I'll put Kripke's toys back in the sandbox when I'm done playing with them. **

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**Warning: I'll be off line for the next week. Gulf Wars, here I come!**

**Stevie Sheridan**

Stevie was pretty sure Mike had taken the remote for his TV. Just poison mean. It's not like it would work with Mike's TV or nothing.

Stevie didn't like Mike. Mike only acted nice. Stevie knew about people. His momma said so. "Stevie, you sure do know what people mean, no matter what they say, huh?"

In the group home he was living in, it was nice how all the people in the home had their own TVs. You could watch what you wanted to. In the old place, there was one TV in the living room, and stupid Sarah had always gotten to watch the shows she wanted.

Now he'd have to get up to change the channel when Oprah came on.

It wasn't fair. Mike didn't want it -- he just took it to make Stevie mad. Well, he was just going to take it back. You weren't supposed to go in other people's rooms, but Mike had so Stevie would. Stevie didn't care if he got in trouble -- he was going to get his remote back, so there.

Stevie waited for the next day, when Mike was in Group Sharing. Stevie sometimes went, but Mike always went. He liked to talk about himself. Stevie went out into the hallway and started to walk to Mike's room.

"Stevie, where are you going?" said Mrs. Fernandez. He liked Mrs. Fernandez most of the time, but he wished she'd go away. He couldn't go in Mike's room while she was there.

"Um, I want a drink of water?" He was nervous. He couldn't help it. She wasn't sure whether to believe him or whether he was doing something bad. It was like prickles on the back of his head.

"Well go on then. I have to go clean this room," she said.

He went to the kitchen and got a drink of water. When Mrs. Fernandez went into the room to clean it, he ran quick like a bunny into Mike's room. Stevie looked around quickly. There was Mike's remote. He didn't see his own though.

It took him a long time and he was really worried that Mike would come back and find him, but finally Stevie found his remote under Mike's bed. He grabbed it quick and scooted to his own room. Nobody saw, not even Mrs. Fernandez. From now on he was going to hide it when he left his room.

He was also going to hide his necklace, in case Mike wanted that too. It was real pretty. That sure was a weird guy that gave it to him, though. Yeah. Stevie always knew what people were feeling, except that guy. He had never felt anything from him. That was weird.

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Marie looked up in time to see the heavy bookcase falling toward her head …


	5. Marie Washington

**Disclaimer: Sigh. If the show was mine it would be on at least twice a week, and hiatuses would be short and planned around my schedule. Obviously it's not mine.**

**Apologies for the long delay. Complete!**

**I bet that purple review button will make chocolate appear magically. Why don't you try it?**

**Marie Washington**

Marie looked up in time to see the heavy bookcase falling toward her head. She hunched her body and _shoved_ hard with her mind. The bookcase stopped, leaning at an absurd angle.

She grabbed little Danny and scuttled out of the way. As their bodies cleared the edge of the bookcase, it resumed its downward path. Plop, dunk, crash, CRUNCH!

Danny burst into tears, and she hugged him. Thank goodness there was no one else in the room -- her other remedial reading student was sick today. One hysterical kid wouldn't be believed. She tried so hard to keep her little gift a secret.

_Sam?_

A normal life. That was what she wanted, and that was what she made sure she got. When she used her sparkle, she always tried to cover her tracks and then forget about it as soon afterward as possible. Normal people didn't move things with their minds.

_Sammy?_

Marie would be normal. She would. Even when it meant she had to leave Jamie when he saw her use it. She had loved Jamie, but he had wanted to talk about it. Talking about it would make it real. No. He'd tried to call her, had showed up on her doorstep one day. She would not speak to him.

_Sammy? Sammy!_

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Sammy opened his eyes in time to see Dean trying to get up, tangled in the blanket and bedspread. "Get back in that bed, Dean!" Sam rolled off his bed, caught his falling brother and gently settled him back.

"You wouldn't wake up, Sammy," said Dean.

"I'm okay Dean. Just sleeping."

Rather suspiciously: "You don't ever sleep that deep unless you're unconscious or having a--"

"I'm fine Dean. What do you want, since you want me awake so bad?" Sam said, grumpiness his shield against Dean's searching eyes.

"I was yelling," said Dean.

"So you're noisy," said Sam. "What do you want?" He glared.

Dean's eyes crawled over him. Sam did his best to glare at him normally, so Dean wouldn't have an excuse to go all mother hen. Mother hen in a Dean-ish way usually involved shoving or smart remarks, only one of which Dean was up for. He looked pretty sick.

Finally Dean must have decided Sam was upright and breathing and that was enough for Dean. "Bring me some juice. No, you can just bring me the carton," Dean added.

"You are not going to drink out of the carton," said Sam. "I might want some."

"Why not?" Dean smirked. "I usually do."

"Ew. Buying small bottles from now on," said Sam.

He poured orange juice into the paper tumbler the motel provided and put it into Dean's hand. Dean drank it, then settled back. Soon his breathing softened, and he slept.

Sam stretched. He felt good … rested. His headache was gone. He could hear birds chirping, though it was still dark outside. He couldn't go back to sleep. He was smiling as he gathered his clothes and headed into the bathroom for a shower.

_Other people had it. And they weren't all doomed. Maybe he would be okay. Maybe all of them would be okay._

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**Thank you everybody for reading! Please review and let me know if you think I did an okay job of showing Sam's change in attitude. If not, that's okay too -- constructive criticism is welcome.**


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